Snow White and the Five Heroes
by Apollaskywalker
Summary: A vital agent in the Gestapo, code named "Snow White", meets up with the Heroes for a mission and later ends up with one of the biggest risks that can befall a female agent.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Absolutely nothing!

Author's note: Accents have not been written in extensively, I figured we all know how the Heroes speak, and I thought not writing the accent would make for easier reading.

Chapter One: Agent Snow White

Carter plucked Newkirk's discarded card with ease and then placed several of his down on the table top. Newkirk scowled as Carter declared that he'd won. For a man who was regularly accused of cheating, when it came to playing cards with Carter, he often lost. One might say something, if one was willing to lose a possession or two for a while. LeBeau wrote his letter to his mother, careful to write it so that the censor wouldn't block out a lot of it, though some of it would be. In other words, it was a normal day at a POW camp should anyone care to take a look.

That changed the second the bunk rose and the stairs descended. "Where's the Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"In his office," LeBeau answered. "Do you think the censor would –"

"What's the message, Kinch? Anything good?" Newkirk asked, eager to change from losing the game to winning the war.

"No," Kinch headed for Hogan's door. LeBeau placed his letter on his bunk and the men followed Kinch. When Hogan answered the door, Kinch read off the communication from London. "First, they want to know how we're coming on the railway plans. Second, a contact code named "Snow White" has gone missing from her apartment. She's been gone for three days, missed a contact. London's worried she might have been captured."

"Snow White?" Newkirk asked. Kinch nodded. "Too bad she ain't Sleeping Beauty, I'd kiss her awake if we found her."

"Not now, Newkirk," Hogan dismissed the comments. "Snow White, Snow White...haven't we had any contact with her?"

"Sure," Kinch affirmed the Colonel's memory. "She works at Gestapo headquarters, she's identified a few officers for us, given their records to us."

"Gestapo," Carter whistled. "Boy, that's dangerous!" LeBeau nodded in agreement. Not only was it dangerous, it was vital. She had access to so many plans, people, and information.

Various suggestions for finding Snow White were announced: radio various contacts, pump Klink for information, go to town, somehow get to Berlin. "No, no," Hogan shook his head. "First the railway, then Snow White. We're not in search-and-rescue, we'll do what we can but until we get any more information there's nothing we can do." He looked around, "All right, Kinch, tell London we're on schedule for tonight, that's it." Kinch headed back to the tunnel. The other men returned to their smaller tasks. Carter abandoned the cards and picked up the socks he needed to darn. He did laundry for the men often, but no one wanted to darn socks so they had to do their own. LeBeau returned to his letter. He read over what he'd written and wished he could tell his mother about what he really did during the war. He hated the idea that he was just stuck at a POW camp and not doing much for the war effort in the minds of other soldiers.

Giving up, LeBeau folded the paper and placed it with his things. He'd work on it later. A missing agent kept his mind away from pleasant, censor friendly things to write. Their work was dangerous enough, an agent at Snow White's level would be a big loss and hopefully without bringing down the whole underground.

* * *

The woods were surrounded by German officers and even with her pass, she had no reason to justify her whereabouts. According to her pass, she was supposed to be on her way to Dusseldorf, not near this railway or in these woods. Dogs were out and every now and then she could hear their barks and the guards' orders. She kept a tight grip on her bag and continued to run through the woods. Various branches tore up her stockings and scraped her legs, the falling snow only added to her discomfort.

But she was a member of the underground, discomfort was a way of life since the war had begun. She would carry on as always.

The railway was her main priority, but the train had been delayed based on suspected sabotage. That she had heard from the guards shortly before she'd taken off into the woods. She did not need anyone to recognize her here if she succeeded. Her second priority was finding a radio she could use to make contact with London or another underground agent. The files in her bag needed to be sent to the Allies as soon as possible. Air targets across Europe and supply routes for the Russian front were all mapped and she had no excuse to have these copies.

Winded, she slowed and looked around to see if she could take a break. The dogs were far enough away that she felt quite comfortable to sit down on a tree stump. The wind howled and she put a hand to her hair, which had come undone. Quite frankly, given her disheveled appearance, if the Germans found her, they wouldn't even look at her forged documents that told them she was a Gestapo secretary. They would imagine she was fleeing the country.

With the time to sit, she thought up a story: on her regular route there had been an air raid. Frightened she'd run away and then became lost and just wandered, looking for the nearest town. They might believe that. Her breathing slowed to an almost normal pattern and she knew she would have to run soon. Just as she stood up, the stump seemed to raise, then fall. "Heavens!" she gasped and jumped away just in time for the stump to open.

One man's face appeared, smudged with ink or something to camouflage him. She blinked and nearly screamed. He jumped out as soon as she opened her mouth and clasped a hand over her mouth and hissed a shushing sound. "Not a sound, missy," He warned her, his German laced with an almost undetectable British accent. He brandished a gun, "Now, I don't want to use this, but I will if I have to. Into the stump," he pushed her in the direction of the stump she'd previously used as a seat.

"Wait," she whispered in English. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

He blinked, then lowered his gun. "You're Snow White?"

She nodded.

"Blimey! Well, get in the tunnel! London's been worried sick about you! Andrew, get down, get Papa Bear –"

"Papa Bear? You mean this is Stalag 13?"

"Welcome to the toughest POW camp in all of Germany," he smiled and gently escorted her to the tunnel entrance. Down below, the man she guessed to be Andrew waved. Her topside rescuer turned on a flashlight and shined it down on the ladder so she could see where she would be going. She made sure her bag was snug, the strap across her shoulder, and then began the descent.

At the bottom, Andrew held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Snow White. I'm Andrew, Andrew Carter."

"American," she breathed.

"Yes, ma'am, from Indiana, though I grew up in North Dakota."

She held out her hand to shake his. "Nice to see an American after all this time. I'm from Wisconsin."

"Boy, you sure don't sound like it!"

"Carter, didn't I tell you to get the Colonel?" the Englishman asked as he stepped down from the ladder.

"I was just making frie-"

"Get the Colonel!"

"Sorry," Andrew addressed her, "be right back!"

"And I'm Peter Newkirk," the Englishman stepped close to her. "From England, but I like those from the colonies just fine. You got a name other than Snow White?"

She nodded, "Rachel, Rachel Weiss."

What felt like a bunch of men arrived in the tunnel. A tall black man with a gentle voice offered her the first normal hello she'd received since arriving. Though, Rachel had to admit that the first had been under suspicion and the second was from a rather young and probably surprised man. "I'm Colonel Hogan," said one and she turned her head to him despite wanting to hug the black man for making her arrival seem normal _and_ pleasant. He also seemed like a calm, stable man and at that moment reminded Rachel of her father. Everyone else seemed too excited like her brothers or too serious like her superiors.

"Colonel Hogan," she greeted him, and then slipped her bag off from her shoulders. "I have information that needs to get to London immediately." She opened it and took out the folder with the papers. It was good that she hadn't just handed the bag over to him, she realized, it had a second change of clothes and she didn't like the idea of a stranger going through her underwear.

Hogan took the papers from her and glanced through them. His eyes widened a bit and then handed it to the black man. "Kinch, radio this to London immediately."

"You have contact with London directly?!" On second thought, she shouldn't have been surprised, so far they seemed to have everything.

"For an underground agent, you certainly have a Kraut name," Hogan commented.

"My grandfather was German, I'm an American." She shrugged, "The name helped make the forgery all easier. It wasn't too hard to make up a fake background that allowed me to be eligible for work in the Gestapo."

"All clear!" a Frenchman called down to them.

"Let's go up," Hogan indicated towards the Frenchman, "Kinch, come up when you've finished with London."

Carter and Newkirk stayed close to her as the group travelled to a ladder. Two of them who hadn't spoken went up first, then Rachel climbed. For a brief moment she wondered if the three men down there were looking up her skirt. After working with Nazis for so long, she hoped the Allies would have better manners, even if they were prisoners of war. The Frenchman (she guessed) helped her out and she thanked him. When he replied, she knew he was French. "I'm Rachel Weiss," she told him.

"Louis LeBeau, Free France Air Force," the Frenchman told her with pride. "Would you like something to eat?"

Prisoner of War camps had terrible food and she knew they often didn't have a lot of food. "No, no thank you," she refused.

Hogan and the two others appeared. Hogan poured two mugs of coffee and placed two seats at the table. Carter and Newkirk went to the sink and began to clean their faces of the grime. LeBeau went over to the stove and began to fiddle with something he was cooking, it smelled surprisingly good – as if it weren't prisoner food at all. "Coffee, Miss Weiss?" Hogan asked.

"Danke," she answered in German automatically, then apologized. Hogan gestured for her to take a seat.

"Care to explain why London lost contact with you?"

Rachel took a gulp of the hot coffee – which tasted like real coffee! LeBeau wandered over and set a plate down in front of her with a very lovely and wonderful smelling French pastry. She thanked him in French and then told him that it was all the French she knew. "You look like you need it," LeBeau turned to Hogan, "You should give her some rest! Did you see her legs? They're all scratched up! And your hair, mademoiselle! Allow me to give you my comb!"

"Yeah," Newkirk chimed in, "no offense, love, but you need some sleep, looks like the Krauts gave you a run for your money!"

"They did. But it's all right," she assured them, "It all happened because of my downstairs neighbor. The Gestapo searched my apartment building," she took another drink of coffee. "I destroyed all evidence of my underground life – including my radio – and," she shook her head. "Most nerve-wracking moment of my work. Kept thinking I forgot something," again she took a drink of coffee. "They arrested my downstairs neighbor. Colonel, may I talk to you in private?"

"My office is that way," Hogan indicated his room and office. Rachel stood up and headed in that direction with him. On her way she noticed that Carter and Newkirk looked a lot better without all the grime on their faces. Hogan opened the door for her and she stepped into his room. "What's this about?" he asked her when the door closed.

"Well…no offense to you or your men, but do you have a plan for how I'm going to get out without being seen? There's a train on its way tomorrow," she recited its route and numbers. "I need to get to it."

"That train was supposed to be here tonight."

"No, it was delayed because of my neighbor. She was executed and the train is taking two Jewish boys to Poland. I'm not leaving until I know they're on their way to London or somewhere safe."

"That's why you left?! To save two kids?"

Rachel crossed her arms. "Colonel Hogan, you're a prisoner and a man at that. You're also an officer. Despite where you are, you're entitled to some respect. Do you have any idea what I am in Germany? I'm a Jewish woman working for the Allies – I'm risking my life for this and if your men hadn't found me –"

"You'd be dead –"

"I would have done it by myself! But now I'm asking."

"We'll see what London has to say." Hogan went over to his door and opened it, "Let's get you settled for tonight."

When they stepped out, the men had already assembled blankets, pillows, and pajamas for her. LeBeau also had prepared warm water, soap, a cloth, and a comb for her personal care. She looked at the pajamas, a big nightgown with stripes. "Thank you all," she smiled gratefully at them.

"Finish your food," LeBeau offered her more coffee.

"LeBeau isn't a bad cook," Carter told her. "Not quite as good as my mom, but decent." LeBeau shot him a look. Rachel told LeBeau it was the best she'd ever had.

"Merci!" LeBeau thanked her.

She finished and LeBeau took her plate. "Schultz is coming!" Carter warned.

"What do we do?" Newkirk asked as Rachel grabbed her bag and slid under the nearest bunk. Kinch appeared and immediately took things into account. He pushed a trunk in front of the bunk and everyone pretended to act normal with Carter and Newkirk sliding under blankets to cover their night sabotage outfits.

A large sergeant walked in and shivered. He warmed his hands by the stove and chatted with the men, took a candy bar, and left. Newkirk then moved the trunk away and she crawled out from under it. "Nice thinkin'!"

"You get used to it," she said shakily. "Sneaking files out and all. Paperwork's a risky business."

"I'll bet," Newkirk grinned. "Come on, I'll show you our Hotel Stalag 13, the mice are trained and the cockroaches are friendly." Her face paled, but Newkirk didn't notice as he tapped the hidden panel and opened the tunnel. She went down first and looked up at the light with a smile. It was still on – or perhaps it was connected to the ladder. Either way, she could see and it made the tunnel seem larger. "Here," Newkirk led her over to a portion of the tunnel that appeared to have been set up specifically for people to sleep. "It ain't much, but it'll do in a pinch."

"Were you serious about the mice and cockroaches?"

"Ah, never did meet a dame who liked pests, but they should leave you alone."

"Good," Rachel smiled, "cockroaches make a mess on my shoes when I kill them." Surprised, Newkirk laughed. He had a nice laugh, she noticed. He took a bit of time fixing up the bedding and then turned to her. He pretended to sneakily to put his hand on her shoulder. She brushed his hand away. "That's not going to work on me, been here long?"

"Long enough, love," Newkirk sounded a bit sad. "By the way, LeBeau will want to know what you want for breakfast. Personally I'd just ask for beans and toast – he thinks he's a gourmet chef," Newkirk winked.

"I think he did well, it was delicious. But I don't want to trouble you, you're risking enough –"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, darlin'? We've got everything here! LeBeau has a nice supply o' food, whatever you want."

"Pancakes? Real pancakes? Not potato pancakes."

"Right. Oh and you'll need clothes," he recited her measurements and began to ask if he'd gotten them right. Rachel slapped him across the face. "Blimey! What was that for?"

"I don't know how you got that, but you probably deserved the slap!"

"Well, was I right or wasn't I?" Rachel grudgingly admitted he was right. "Then can I also get a kiss goodnight?"

She rose to her tip toes and kissed the same cheek she'd slapped. "Good night, Mr. Newkirk."

"Call me Peter," he said warmly.

"Good night, Peter."

"Can I kiss you goodnight?" he asked hopefully.

"Don't push your luck."


	2. Seven Dwarves? No, Five Heroes!

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own anything.

Chapter Two: Seven Dwarves? No, Five Heroes!

Morning roll call ended and LeBeau went over to the stove to begin cooking while Newkirk started on altering a pair of LeBeau's pants. Skirts weren't very practical for their work and definitely not for the tunnels. Hogan walked about, thinking over their assignment and the wish brought up by their newfound contact. Soon they would have word from London as to what London wanted from them, then they'd go from there. It was all business from here – and for most of them, the business was a pleasure because it involved a woman. Newkirk had been one of the first to arrive at Stalag 13, then LeBeau and both complained often of missing female company. Even Hogan had to admit that in the short time (compared to his European comrades) he'd been at the Stalag, he'd picked a lot of the contact assignments because they would allow him to meet female agents. Being Papa Bear and Senior POW Officer had its perks and women were one of them. The others were cigars and alcohol courtesy of Klink, occasional trips to town by way of Germans begging for information, and knowledge that he was helping his country fight against the Krauts.

"Kinch, what are you doing with that barrel?" Carter asked.

"Cutting it in half, Andrew, so Snow White can have a bath."

Carter frowned. "Colonel, where's she gonna take a bath?"

"Permission to bring it to her, sir," Newkirk volunteered instantly. "I'll even be a towel if we don't have one."

"You?" LeBeau asked with a sneer. The two were friends, but when it came to women, the two fought like rivals.

"_Kinch_ will take the bath down," Hogan silenced the two of them. "And while you're down there, check for messages from London. We've got to think of a way to get her safely out of camp." He spotted Newkirk starting to make a suggestion and stopped him before he started. Not all of Newkirk's witticisms were something Hogan cared to listen to, especially not when the situation was serious. Though Newkirk always had one or two witticisms available for every situation.

Kinch opened the trap door to the tunnel and Carter handed things down to him. Snow White – Rachel Weiss, that was – appeared and offered to help. Carter called down a greeting and she waved back at him with a smile, listening to Kinch tell her where they should put the "tub" and the curtain. Newkirk and LeBeau hurried over to the bunk and called down their own good mornings and questions. LeBeau told her that breakfast would be ready whenever she wanted – did she prefer coffee or tea? Newkirk held up the pair of pants he'd been working on and told her he needed her to try them on so they could make alterations. Hogan chastised them, but the other men in the barrack were on their way, so he went to keep a look out for Krauts. Prisoners of War – they could take on anything the Germans could give them, but throw one woman into the place and most of them went insane.

Down in the tunnel, Rachel looked at the makeshift bathtub and the hot water they were sending down in pots and pans with amazement. She knew that prisoners didn't have the luxury of hot showers all the time, but here they were putting a warm bath together for her because they were hiding her. Of all the places, of all the things, she just couldn't fathom this operation's true size and nature.

"You did all of this for me?" she asked. She had already washed up with what was left of the water they'd given her last night and soap. Her hair was up and out of her face, ready to get down to business. They had train schedules and maps to discuss, and how were they going to stop the train? It occurred to her then that when she set out for this mission, she hadn't exactly thought it through. Her sole goal was to get the boys and get them to London. The main difficulty at the time had been convincing her boss that she needed a vacation right then and without him.

Kinch smiled, "We had some female prisoners here a while back, had to build another tunnel to get to them so we could help them escape. I think we dug that tunnel in thirty minutes."

"A long war," she commented and secured her end of the curtain's rod to the tunnel sides.

"Surely you don't mean you're lonesome for male company?" Kinch asked her seriously. "Working in the Gestapo, I would have thought you'd be sick of men."

"We all have things we miss," Rachel replied curtly. Kinch nodded and checked that the curtain would hold. "I'm sorry, that sounded rude. Too much time spent with Germans, I think. It's just…well, to be around Allies is exciting for me, were I your host, I'd be going to this much trouble too."

"Sure," Kinch touched her arm gently, "I get it. Have a nice bath before the water cools, I've got to go check and see if we've got word from London."

Rachel thanked him and stepped behind the curtain. The radio and receivers could be heard through the curtain, so she knew where Kinch was. Unconcerned that anyone would see her naked, she removed her clothes and stepped into the bath. The heat seeped into her skin and she sighed. Minutes passed as she lathered and rinsed while the water grew steadily colder. Finally, she had to leave and when she did, she heard, "Excuse me, darlin', would you mind tryin' these on so I can make any adjustments?" Peter Newkirk, the Englander with the cockney accent, had his arm extended behind the curtain, hand clutching a pair of pants. To his credit, he wasn't looking at her. Rachel grabbed the towel that had been brought down for her, wrapped it around herself, and took the pair of pants from him. "If we're gonna be doin' dangerous work, you'd best be in clothes you can run in."

It appeared they had thought of her plan to some extent. Quickly she dried off and dressed, then stepped out from behind the curtain.

Unlike last night, Peter Newkirk was dressed in his uniform. The blue set off his green eyes. Corporal, she noted the insignia. If he'd been addressed with his rank the night before, she had forgotten. Right then she missed being at her desk at the Gestapo office, she could have had every bit of knowledge on the man in a moment. Well, most of it, but the rest she could probably get from the Underground or London itself. The British had attractive uniforms –

"Um, I think the pants need to be a bit longer," she gestured to her ankles. "And taken in a bit at the waist." Peter nodded and knelt down so he could adjust the waist and pin it. He placed several pins in his mouth to free his hands and deftly slid them into place, securing the fabric. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but for a few seconds, she thought he lingered with his fingers against her skin. He then took his tape measurer out and took in the length he needed to add. "I hope Monsieur LeBeau is not upset that I'm taller than he is."

"Won't say a word," Peter told her, his mouth moved awkwardly around the pins. "He said that breakfast is ready whenever – and I'll make tea. LeBeau can't make tea to save his life. I think all French are like that." He finally pinned all he needed and directed her to remove the pants, he'd fix them up for her. Like a gentleman, he stepped behind the curtain so she could change.

"By the way, have I told you that you're beautiful?"

"No."

"Well, better late than never, you're beautiful." He held his hand out to her and she placed her hand in his. He led her over to the ladder, his grip firm and sure – he may be a flirt but he had heart, she could tell that by his grip. So many men she met stumbled over themselves around her, trying to win their way to her boss's good side by way of romancing her. Flowers, champagne, nylons, chocolate, butter, sugar – all sorts of bribes came her way but they didn't have the genuine heart that Peter Newkirk had. Peter flipped the pants over his shoulder and they both climbed up.

"Good morning," Colonel Hogan greeted her, a cup of coffee in one hand, a piece of paper in the other. "Orders from London," he held up the piece of paper. "We're to move you out tomorrow."

Rachel wasn't the only one to protest. A few complained of the logistical problems, a few about losing the company, but Hogan held up a hand and all fell silent. "We'll talk about this," Hogan gestured at the table. "Have a seat, I believe LeBeau made you breakfast." LeBeau walked over with a plate of pancakes and smiled at her. He set the plate down on the table and Peter deposited the pants on the table and sat down. She sat across from Hogan and he passed her the pancakes. "Look, we're going to help you with your mission and you'll help us with ours tonight – we have the same target. But London says to send you back. What if your cover's blown?"

Rachel ate a few bites of pancake and then shook her head. "It hasn't been blown. I told you last night! They won't be searching for me, my cover is intact. London makes bad decisions sometimes and we have to question them."

Carter laughed and then tossed a dart at a piece of paper on the wall, one that looked remarkably like a picture of Hitler. "Us? Question orders? Ma'am, the last time we had orders that made sense, we were shot down." Peter looked up from a box he'd picked up with sewing materials in it. He threaded a needle and set it down to get a pair of pants that he could match her measurements better. "We listen to Colonel Hogan."

Hogan asked her to recount why she believed that her cover wasn't going to be blown. So she did, this time telling the whole story to everyone in the barracks. The story of how her apartment building came to be searched, how she had to forge a few papers, cry in her boss's office so he would think she genuinely needed a vacation and then the pass. She'd gotten on the wrong train on purpose, got off at the stop she thought would connect her to the train with the boys, but instead when she went to get to the train, German troops were searching the woods and she'd run into Newkirk and Carter. "So far, we're the only ones who know you're not on your way to Paris?"

"Right."

"Schultz is coming!" LeBeau warned. "No time for the tunnel! He's in a hurry!" Hogan directed her to his office and the rest of them assembled into a sense of common activity. Rachel pressed her ear against the door and listened as the sergeant complained and instructed the prisoners as to what they needed to do, what the Kommandant wanted.

Hogan left with the sergeant and Rachel sat down at his desk to look through his books. He had mostly manuals but there was one book missing. She hoped that it was a novel or something he enjoyed, but most likely it had to be a copy of the Geneva Convention or some sort of rulebook, something he had to have. A few pictures were placed on the wall, a few pin ups but one of his family. It had to be his family, she could see the resemblance to Hogan in the faces of the woman and the man. It couldn't be anything else but his family. With care and respect, Rachel removed the photo from the wall.

Back home she had her mother, her father, and two brothers. Well, her older brother was deployed somewhere in the armed forces. Her other brother went to elementary school in Wisconsin. Somewhere in America, Colonel Hogan's family didn't know what their son was up to – believing he was at the sole mercy of the Germans, not aware that he was part of a resistance.

Rachel held onto the picture and wished she could see her family again. Even if he was a prisoner of war, she felt jealous that he could see his family like this. She hadn't seen hers in four years and she couldn't even have a picture of them with her. If her brothers saw her then, they'd be laughing at her for being all emotional over something as simple as a photograph. Rachel repined the picture to the wall and stepped back from it.

Otherwise, as far as she could tell, his room was essentially nothing special. Not a single special thing stood out to say that it was someone's permanent space, that they liked it there, that it was home. At least at her apartment she could pick out things for her liking, she could make it hers. She could arrange the furniture her way, buy the sheets she wanted.

God, what was she crying about over a photograph? Compared to what she had, the man had nothing. None of these men had anything. Her cushy life, threatened only by the possibility that she would be exposed. They would just shoot her. There were so many punishments in here for trivial things – shooting them would be easy and the Gestapo would be more interested in pain for these allied prisoners who'd found a way to thwart them.

Carter opened the door and told her she could leave Hogan's office. The whole day would be a mix of espionage and regular prison stuff, but she'd get used to it. Rachel looked around the room and Carter stared at her, confused as to why she just stood there.

"If you're gonna stay there, try these on, make sure they're right," Peter held out the pants he'd fixed for her. Rachel took them and tried them on, they were a perfect fit, but the real problem came with her feet – she had no shoes to go with them. This would be something to discuss with Colonel Hogan when they went over the plan for the train. Pants might be warmer and more suited for sabotage activities and theft, but even if Peter could lengthen trousers, he probably wasn't a shoemaker.

Figuring that she wasn't going any place that needed shoes at the moment, she folded her skirt and placed it on Hogan's bed. It looked rather indecent, but what did that trouble her? She'd seen more indecent things than that and hopefully anyone in the barracks who saw it would understand why she'd placed them there. She put her shoes under his bed, aligned with her skirt, and then she left his office.

Kinch and Carter were playing cards. LeBeau had a piece of paper in front of him and a pencil in his hand. Peter stood next to the door of Hogan's office and then smiled. "That looks beautiful, love," he complimented her and took her hand. "Go on, give the lads a twirl – and you say I can't sew, Louis!" Hand in his, Rachel twirled for the men to see how the pants fit. There were a few claps and some noises of approval, but aside from the four men, the barracks was empty.

"We don't have much to do here for a girl," Peter apologized. "We get one hour of exercise a day, but seeing as how you can't go out –"

"I quite understand," Rachel nodded. "And don't think of forgoing that hour just because of me. You've all given up a lot just to help end the war, don't give up anything just because I'm here."

"Mademoiselle," LeBeau spoke up, "we would not be giving up anything – we can always find ways to exercise but a woman? That's a rare occasion around here."

"Indeed," Kinch placed a card on the table and Carter took it. "Carter, why do you always take eights?"

"Because you think I'll give up," Carter placed some cards down and declared, "Gin."

"So what do you do?" Rachel asked and walked over to the table. The men's bunks, she noticed, were all made. Rules? Boredom? Military efficiency? Why did they make their beds if they didn't have to? Most of the bunks had pictures posted, family and girls – some she was fairly certain they had never met. "Just cards, cooking, and writing?"

"Hey," LeBeau protested, "some day I may actually publish this novel," he waved the paper he had.

"Right," Carter laughed. "And we'll all be famous, but only in France 'cause LeBeau won't translate it." The whole lot of them shared a laugh and Rachel wondered if they had a genuine joke about a French novel or if it was just in response to her question.

"I'm not sharing the money," LeBeau smiled and then went back to his letter.

The door opened and Hogan walked in, snow drifted inside as well. The cold air drifted over her bare feet and she shivered. He unzipped his jacket and went straight to the coffee pot. He poured himself a cup and offered one to Rachel. She politely declined. "We need to discuss the train job. What was your plan?"

"Hop on, hop off," she admitted. "Didn't have much of a plan, just a moral obligation to _do_."

"There's that at least, but this is why you just pass on information, leave the dangerous stuff to us, please? You could get yourself hurt."

She felt a coat being draped around her shoulders and she looked to see that Newkirk had given her his coat. "Let us protect our side, especially those here in Germany, all right?" Peter asked.

"I can take care of myself," she tore the coat off of her shoulders and stuffed it into his arms. "So I didn't plan the whole thing, so what? I've been here for most of the war and have covered my tracks thoroughly – one mistake -

"One mistake could get us all killed," Hogan remarked.

"Problems with the Kommandant?" she asked. In the few times she'd spoken to Papa Bear he hadn't been this upset.

"Oh, he's fine, I just am nervous about this mission. Frau Linkmeyer is in town along with General Burkhalter, so tonight's a little sticky."

Kinch walked over to look out the door to keep watch. He opened a secret folder behind the "VERBOTEN" sign and took out a few maps to pass to the Colonel. "Let's plan this, shall we?"


	3. High Ho, High Ho

Disclaimer still applies

Chapter Three: High Ho, High Ho, It's Off to Blow a Train We Go!

Not that far away, the train whistled as it began to slow to a halt. The great German train carrying ammunition, food, and other supplies plus two Jewish boys approached the foursome. Back at the camp, Kinch and Rachel worked on the radios and phone lines, supplying the Hammelburg train and Gestapo offices with codes and orders, backed by lies that would get them no where once they began their investigation. Here they would plant the bombs and take the boys. Hogan wore the insignia of a major and the rest of his men wore insignia showing subordinate ranks.

"Carter, you sure you got the timers set correctly?" Hogan looked at the youthful, naïve explosive expert. The man had once set bombs and fires off in his school, if it weren't for the war as an outlet for the knowledge in his head, Hogan sometimes thought Carter would be in jail. Carter meant nothing harmful by it, most of the time, he just liked to tinker with chemicals and explosives to see what would happen.

"All set, just pull this," Carter pointed to a little key in one of his explosives, "and they'll go off in half an hour."

"And you're sure the Germans won't find them?" Newkirk asked. "What happens if they find one and throw it out the window?"

Carter frowned, "Well, once the key's been pulled, it can't be stopped. Not unless you know what you're doing anyway. And since I designed it, I'm the only one who knows which wires connect –"

"Carter, just answer the question. How many of these do we need to plant? You've brought over a dozen!"

"Just four, I think," Carter frowned. Newkirk sighed and looked at LeBeau for back up on this, the RAF preferred the guarantee and quick answers which were often provided only by Kinch or LeBeau. Carter took forever to answer a question and it was hard to tell how long it would take Hogan to reply. And given the occasional issues with Carter's explosives, Newkirk wanted to make sure they did the job and they did it right. The main reason they were set to go off that late was to put them further away from Stalag 13. Rachel had commented that Major Hochstetter sent so many requests for new commands at the Stalag and reports of suspicious activity in the area that it made them all a little nervous. If the whole operation was blown, not a single agent in Germany would be safe. The Nazis would gain fast ground that could win the war if the Underground was exposed. To keep that at bay, they had set the timer for longer than originally planned.

LeBeau glanced down the track, the lights of the train were visible now. This train would have happier, more confident soldiers and officers. They weren't headed for the Russian front but for the eastern front. Their death wouldn't be quite as expected. It would be wise to expect resistance and more questions from these officers than they had when they'd sent the orders to the Hammelburg station. The codes were really the only thing that kept them from losing the chance to board the train and inspect it. That and the forged paperwork, correctly filled out and faked with aid from Rachel. She'd provided them with enough information that if anyone dared second guess their orders, they'd be highly concerned that they were dealing with the highest officials of the Gestapo.

It was do or die, really. The four of them against the whole German train. It had been so much easier as a demolition job, but who would refuse to get innocent civilians off of the train? Like any member of the Free France military forces, LeBeau had signed up for this fight, knew the risks. He was ready and willing to die for his country if necessary. The whole lot of them were – even when they suggested they not do a mission out of safety factors, they would do it to the best of their ability. At one point, most of them had faked being a traitor in the eyes of their homelands just to get a message out. When he had to cook a fancy dinner for some German officer Klink wanted to impress, it often took everything LeBeau had not to poison the food or break something.

"The things we are willing to do for a woman," LeBeau muttered in French.

"German only from now on," Hogan reminded him tersely. The train was closer, the light bright in their eyes. Unconsciously, Hogan's hand tightened into a fist at his side. "Remember the plan," he hoped to heaven it would work out without a hitch. Sometimes they went off perfectly, but most of the time there was always something that happened that threw them off guard or changed the plans slightly. A defector, someone who would recognize them - _Marya had better not be on this train_, Hogan thought with annoyance. If anyone could mess this up completely, it would be the White Russian. She came in with her own plans, secret to only herself, let everyone else know all these important details but never the full picture, always risking the entire operation. No, no one they knew should be onboard the train.

The train whined to a halt, her gears pressing together tightly with an undignified sound. The lights of the train illuminated the darkness a bit and three men stepped out of the train. The four from Stalag 13 saluted in response to the three actual Germans. Hogan handed over the paperwork and nodded that LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk should proceed. Each one entered a different compartment and began to go through them, pretending to look for bombs. Hogan exchanged another set of papers and two more Germans brought the two boys. They were scrawny and frightened, their eyes wide. The light reflected in their eyes. Neither of them had a warm enough coat and both shivered. Hogan had the urge to give one of them his coat but that wouldn't appear very Nazi-ish.

* * *

Back at the Stalag, Rachel and Kinch were in the tunnel, near the radio. Kinch had a pad of paper out and was scribbling down some math problems for fun. Rachel paced around, checking her watch every now and then. "How can you sit there?" She asked him and again checked her watch. The four had only been gone for half an hour and it was a good fifteen-minute drive to the train track. The car they had taken was from the Stalag's motor pool and she had a horrible feeling about it. They could be dressed in all the Nazi uniforms they wanted, have all the necessary paperwork and codes – but there were so many ways it could go wrong. Someone's German could be faulty, someone could – "How can you stand it?"

"I'm used to it. Want a German newspaper? They have a few puzzles in them –" Kinch picked up one and then put it down. "Not that one, it's been solved." And by "solved" he meant someone had drawn obscene doodles all over it. "Here," he had a clean edition and he held it out to her. "The waiting doesn't get any easier but you can at least try to take your mind off of it."

"You do this often?" she accepted the paper and pencil and opened it up to find the puzzles and instead found a few articles about the war effort and a few articles about Hitler. Then she noticed an article about her boss. It included a picture and she took the pencil Kinch had given her to solve the puzzles. One, two, three, she lined up the pencil and how she would have to move her fist – she stabbed the picture.

"Difficulty?" Kinch asked and then was interrupted by the sound of morse code and he began to take the message down. Rachel listened to it as well. He translated it and put it aside. "I can't do a German crossword puzzle very well – lots of references to _Mein Kampf_, which I've never read."

"Don't bother, it's boring," she'd read it because she'd had to. She even had an autographed copy, a present from her boss. Every decent German citizen had a copy of Hitler's autobiography. "Good news or bad news?" she checked her watch again.

"Neither, just telling us there'll be some bombing activity nearby, so we might want to be on alert for any downed planes." He went back to his papers and she looked at the paper he'd given her. Unfortunately she'd stabbed through it enough that any interesting material was a bit marred. She tossed the paper aside and fidgeted with the pencil instead. "Don't worry, they'll be fine. We've done this sort of thing before."

"Really? And it's completely comfortable for you?"

"No, it isn't – but I have faith in Colonel Hogan." Kinch smiled, thinking of meeting the Colonel for the first time, of the inexplicable plans he put together that seemed impossible and farcical in nature that always worked, and of the knowledge each other hand that would allow them to perfectly pull these escapades off. Even though he couldn't go out with them very often, on the occasions he did, he could see how Hogan was so confident. Not to make himself sound greater than he was, but Hogan's confidence, Kinch figured, came from knowing his men and their dedication to wreaking havoc and destruction on the Third Reich. "I remember once we blew up a bridge and we weren't even there. Had to send a messenger," he grinned widely and Rachel smiled gently, letting him reminisce. "A _German_ messenger," Kinch emphasized so she understood how complex blowing up this bridge was. "Then we rebuilt it and blew it up again." He paused for a few moments and then told her the story of when they stole a tank.

"You guys have such fun missions," Rachel sounded wistful. "The most I do is sle- copy papers and pass on information."

"Oh there have been some of those and they're not fun."

Rachel eyed him suspiciously. Then they laughed together, "They've been fun after, but they're very stressful during."

She checked her watch again. "How long do you think they'll be?"

"Give it some time."

* * *

The two boys were escorted to the car and they were placed inside the back. The officers exchanged cigarettes with Hogan while the other three planted the bombs. Carter placed his while pretending to investigate a box containing bags of sugar. LeBeau went through the ammunition and placed one there for good measure. And Newkirk tucked his in the luggage of some soldier while he stole a few boxes of cigarettes, some money, and some bars of chocolate from them. Bribing Schultz meant less candy for the lot of them and Red Cross packages weren't always given.

They were in and out of the train quickly and Carter held up a fake bomb, indicating that the mission was a success and the Germans could go on their way. The officers had a few questions, but the whole job was done quickly in their minds – ignoring the actual time of several hours.

The train started and headed off with the supplies and the Germans. They were only left without the two boys.

Everyone kept with the German only routine until they got into the car and then Hogan smiled. "Good job, men."

"Sir…" the eldest of the two boys spoke quietly. "Where are we going, if I may ask?"

LeBeau turned and grinned, "You're going to Switzerland. We're not Germans! We're friends!"

"Yeah," Newkirk took out a bar of chocolate and held it up. "See? Friends!" He held the bar out towards the boys but neither of them took it despite understanding him since he spoke German. "Not a trick," Newkirk told them, slightly concerned that they weren't automatically reaching for the sweets. They were too thin. Food should have tempted them and it wasn't like the food the Germans gave them would have been any good – if they got food at all. The food from the Germans given to the POWs was not of any good quality and until LeBeau had arrived, Newkirk had lost a considerable amount of weight. Every other soldier had remarked the same. If LeBeau had never shown up with his culinary skills, they would have starved. Had anyone offered him a candy bar then, he would have taken it in a heartbeat.

"Hey, maybe they think we're going to hurt them and that's poisoned!" Carter suggested.

It was a good idea, Newkirk realized, and then he opened the bar up while Hogan told LeBeau to drive on back to camp and the drop off site. The car moved on as Newkirk opened the chocolate bar, took a piece and ate it, smiling the whole time. Finally the boys took it. "What are your names?" Carter asked.

"I'm Jacob," the eldest said. "This is my brother Isaak."

"I'm Andrew Carter –"

"Carter, introductions aren't for now," Hogan told him sternly. With the boys he was warm, "Don't worry, we're here to help you. We're part of the Underground. Just keep quiet if we run into any trouble. Newkirk, radio back to camp and see that everything's set?"

"Right, sir," Newkirk turned to get the radio and Carter set about disassembling the fake bomb. Isaak watched while he slowly chewed the chocolate, as if he wanted to savor it and not that he hadn't eaten in days. Snow White's journey hadn't just been difficult for her, it had been worse for the boys. Radio in hand, Newkirk called the camp.

* * *

Kinch and Rachel escorted the Underground agent into the tunnel and he introduced himself, a French agent. Francois was the only name he provided other than his code name of Sea Lion. His arrival helped a bit with the waiting. Rachel poured him some tea and cooked up a small snack for Francois. He and Kinch spoke about the plans and went through the things they'd put together for the trip to Switzerland.

"Are you coming too, Snow White?" Francois preferred code names, that way he could stay out of trouble by thinking of anyone in an unsafe way. "London seemed to imply that you should."

"No, I'm returning to Berlin in two days." She checked her watch while Francois ate. She could hear the thick cockney accent, the soft French, and the home sounding American accent of the men. What if the bombs were discovered? She'd removed papers and told other agents which papers to pull about people the Nazis wanted to learn about or hunt down for suspicions but she had not removed any paperwork about these men. Nothing dangerous had ever been filed on them as far as she knew, but she didn't want to pull anything about them. She didn't want to think for a moment that they would be in danger of being discovered –

If only she knew they were on their way back, a successful mission.

"You sure? I can get you out safely." She barely heard Francois because the ceiling creaked. They all froze in place and Kinch's brows furrowed as he concentrated on the sound. Francois put his hand on his gun, ready to draw it out and shoot if the need arose. None of them wanted it to go to that. The hardest thing that came with espionage was a missing body or a dead one. Even in war, when people were missing in action all the time, a body meant the worst kind of trouble.

Kinch moved closer to the entrance so he could hear better. Rachel stepped forward, ready to yank him back from danger and then the bunk rose up, the ladder dropped, and from the dark barracks above, a prisoner waved. "Just thought you ought to know, Schultz is asleep outside. We're good."

"Thanks," Kinch replied and the bunk went down while the ladder went up. Rachel checked the time and looked at the tunnel exit.

Francois and Kinch started talking about radios and she went through the uniforms. Her fingers traced the lightning bolt symbol on the SS uniforms and like with the paper before, she wanted to damage it. Two lightning bolts – but lightning never strikes the same place twice. The red arm band with the twisted cross and white circle – the symbol they threw around everywhere, as if Hitler had designed it himself. There were other symbols, but she focused on the swastika for the moment. A symbol of life and Germans – but all she'd seen were the deaths. She'd seen the reports, heard many of them talking about the friends they'd lost, joke about the enemies they'd killed.

The two boys were just an idea in her mind, something to put with the yellow stars she'd seen in pictures, in reports, and other filing materials – no more a symbol of this war than the crooked cross.

Carter had his bombs, all he needed was a piece of shrapnel from something he'd exploded.

Hogan would receive medals and he probably had something that would remind him of his successes.

What of her? What would she have to say at the end, to hold up and say she had saved people? She knew only that she had sent information, she wanted a physical way to know that she had done something for the war effort. Her finger on the swastika made her realize then why she'd run to save these boys.

The radio crackled and she looked over to see Kinch answer it. Peter's voice came out of the device and she let out a quiet sigh of relief. Peter simply stated that they were on their way and so far the mission had been successful. They had the two packages. Rachel closed her eyes and then went to check on the challah she'd managed to make from LeBeau's supplies. She wanted them to know that they really were safe from the Germans, that they could be themselves without fear. If it had been the Sabbath, it would have been better but given the resources they had, challah was the only real option.

Francois inhaled deeply and commented that her bread smelled delicious. But as he was not a Jew, he didn't know the significance of the bread.

Kinch moved some of his equipment after acknowledging the message so that she could prominently display the bread and salt that she would say the ritual blessing over. He handed her the bottle of wine and she placed it next to the bread. Again, this was to bring peace to the boys' state of mind and though she really wasn't the one who should be doing all of this, they should be with their families, and it wasn't the proper time, she imagined it was the first time they would be doing this since the war. It certainly was the first time in years she would experience this.

Soon the tunnel opened and two boys descended after Carter, followed by LeBeau, and then Hogan. She didn't see a sign of Peter.

"Welcome," she said to the boys, moving forward to greet them. "Where's Peter – I mean, where's Corporal Newkirk?"

Hogan took off the helmet and began to undo the buttons of his coat. "Returning the car to the motor pool."

Rachel nodded and then turned to the boys. She introduced herself and led them over to the challah bread. She said the prayers and they ate the bread and salt and drank the wine. Jacob and Isaak seemed greatly relieved and actually convinced that they were safe that they listened carefully to Francois tell them what the plan was. They would be out of the camp in under five hours. In that time they would get some sleep, eat, and if they had clothes that would fit, they would change.

Carter removed his jacket and grabbed a bag with his pajamas. "I'm gonna change and then I've got pictures to take and develop for their papers."

Rachel relayed the message to the boys in German. The bunk rose and the ladder dropped, she turned to see Peter descending the ladder. "Here," he called down to Kinch, "here's me coat." Kinch looked up just in time to see Peter drop the SS coat down and grab it. He frowned at Peter and when Peter got to the bottom of the ladder, Kinch pushed the coat back into his arms. "What's the matter, Kinch?"

At the sound of his voice, Rachel's smile grew wider. "Hey there, beautiful!" Peter put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. "See how marvelous we pulled this off? No problems!"

Carter pulled on his pajama shirt, "I think there's one problem – we won't see the explosion."

"Ah, Carter," Peter groaned. "Stop reminding me."

Hogan shook his head. "Newkirk, LeBeau, Kinch, off to bed. Carter, finish the photographs and papers and then to bed. You guys get some sleep when you finish," Hogan ordered.

Rachel turned in Peter's arms and hugged him. "I know I shouldn't celebrate early, but for being such a mess in the beginning, it's starting to look wonderful!" She kissed his cheek.

"Yeah," Peter grinned back at her. "I have that effect on women."

She dropped her arms and shook her head.


	4. The Wicked Witch of the Third Reich

As always, nothing recognizable is mine.

Chapter Four: The Wicked Witch of the Third Reich

The next morning, Hogan went down into the tunnel and saw that Rachel was still asleep, but the boys and the Frenchman were gone. He knew he should wake her, they had a few things to solve before she left that night – such as what she still needed (radio parts or a new radio?) and any changes to the codes. Still, he hesitated. Without her information, they would have blown up two civilians. And she'd brought a lot of smiles to the barracks. They all talked of girls in all sorts of ways: the mothers and sisters they missed, the girls they'd been with, the girls they wanted, and the girls in pictures – poor Carter had a crush on Mary Noble from the radio show Backstage Wife. But whenever women arrived in camp it brought out two strong sides of the men, it strengthened their morale, made them happier, but they bickered amongst themselves because they all wanted her attention. Before they'd gone to sleep, Carter commented that he hoped they'd impressed Rachel with the success of their mission. All of them agreed they had, it was the happiest Hogan had seen the bunch in weeks, since their Red Cross packages and letters had been delayed and the Underground had quieted down to avoid detection.

"Morning," he shook her awake with a bit of regret. Tonight she would leave and they wouldn't have her around. Even in the tunnel, her perfume lingered on her skin. Hogan sometimes thought that the war was making him lose his memory of how women smelled or how they even were.

_War is hell_, Hogan thought.

"Oh, good morning, Colonel," she brushed her hair behind her ears and frowned. "It is morning, right?"

"Right," he confirmed. "Another lovely day here in Germany."

"Germany," she pulled the cover over her head. "Wake me up when the war ends, please."

"Sorry, can't wait that long." Rachel pushed the covers down and sat up. She wore a nightdress borrowed from Newkirk. It was too big for her, but it was easier than making a new nightdress for her, which they wouldn't need. "Breakfast and we need to find out if you need anything to take back to Berlin. Replacements for the radio, it might be too suspicious if you buy one in Berlin."

As he talked, she got up and began to fold the blankets. He paused after mentioning buying a radio in Berlin to watch the folding process. Most of his men wadded their bedding up or had to lay it all out to get neat folds. She folded the blankets without pause and without extra thought. He could remember his mother trying to teach him to be patient enough and take care of things. He remembered basic training where they drilled cleanliness into him. And then he knew the regular life of a POW camp where the only things that were orderly were the hidden things.

"I can get a radio, no problem, but I'd prefer to get one from you, if at all possible. I don't want to explain why I bought a new one."

"All right, I'll tell Kinch. Get dressed and then head on upstairs, LeBeau's made coffee."

Upstairs, LeBeau readied coffee and French toast for everyone. Carter munched away on his, imagining the explosion of the train. When the bunk rose and the ladder dropped, they all stopped what they were doing to look around and make sure everything was in place and clean. One man nudged a pair of underwear under his bunk, not having made it to the laundry bin just yet. Hogan helped her out and then she walked over to the table. "Good morning, men," she accepted hugs and kisses on her cheek from all of them and took a seat next to Kinch. Hours of waiting with him couldn't leave her with anything other than warm feelings for him. His steadfast patience and assurance was probably the only thing that kept her from ruining her nails or pulling at her hair.

"Mornin'," Newkirk took a sip of his coffee and then poured her a cup. "Sugar?"

"No, thank you," she accepted the cup and Hogan sat down across from her to discuss her plans of escape and to make sure that it was all sorted out. LeBeau set a plate of French toast in front of her and she thanked him, impressed that he'd managed to again make a lovely meal. Their resourcefulness was truly amazing. She picked up her fork and began to eat. Conversation took its place. From them she gathered bits and pieces of camp life, of the volleyball games they used for their hour of exercise, of the cooler, and then one of them noticed that Schultz was on his way.

The lot of them grabbed something: a fork, a knife, her plate, and Newkirk tugged on her arm until she allowed him to direct her. They took her to Hogan's office and placed her breakfast on the table before rushing out to pretend that they hadn't been doing anything they shouldn't have.

Instead of eating breakfast, Rachel stayed near the door to listen.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz addressed him. "The Kommandant asked me to tell you – what is this? French toast?"

"Want some, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked. "I think LeBeau made some extra."

"No!" Schultz barked. "I want nothing! I see nothing!"

"Well, you don't want food, what is it, Schultz?" Hogan sounded muffled so she imagined he was facing away from his office.

"The Kommandant says that all men are confined to barracks."

"Why?"

"I know nothing!" Schultz replied quickly – too quickly. She could tell he knew something. Given how defensive he sounded, it wouldn't be too difficult to crack him. If she could see him, she would know exactly how to get the information. A little smile here or there, a compliment his way about how impressive he was, anything. Constantly surrounded by prisoners, he'd be as easy to handle as bread dough.

"Really, Schultz?" LeBeau asked. "Want some apple strudel tonight?"

"Oh…strudel…" Schultz sounded…wistful? But since LeBeau offered him food, it must be his weakness. Not too difficult, she could cook just fine, though perhaps LeBeau was a better cook. "No!"

"Hey, Kinch," Hogan's voice became less clear and softer, but she could hear his footsteps, which confirmed that he was moving away. "Would you mind handing me one of the candy bars from the stash? You know, with the caramel. I've been – oh, Schultz, would you like some chocolate? I know how much you love caramel chocolate bars."

"Oh, Colonel Hogan," Schultz dragged Hogan's name out for what felt like twenty seconds.

"Two bars?" Kinch suggested.

"Mmm…" Schultz moaned. "Three?"

"Three," Hogan agreed. "What do you know?"

There were the sounds of crinkling paper, and then it was too quiet to hear anything. Hogan said Schultz's name in a pleading tone and then Schultz spoke. "Major Hochstetter and a general of the Gestapo are coming here to use the camp as a center for an investigation. A train blew up last night and they need to find out what happened."

"Which general?"

"General Steiner."

"Oh. Well how long will we be confined to barracks?"

"That, I do not know," Schultz admitted. The door opened and then closed. Carter opened the door to Hogan's office and let her know she could come out.

"Great, just great," Newkirk sighed. "We're going to have to be extra careful with a general around – and Hochstetter. Getting her out of here'll be tricky."

"Tricky?" Hogan asked. "It's almost too risky."

"No, not at all," Rachel corrected him. "It's almost too easy. General Steiner – Erich Steiner – is my boss."


	5. The Poisoned Apple of the Gestapo

Nothing is mine

Chapter Five: The Poisoned Apple of the Gestapo

Erich Steiner stepped out of the car and onto the ground of the camp. Barracks were lined up and soldiers patrolled, even though there wasn't a prisoner in sight. Behind him, Major Hochstetter climbed out and scowled at the camp. General Steiner did not know, but knew Fraulein Weiss would know, how many times Major Hochstetter had attempted to "prove" the existence of an Underground station at the camp. Ludicrous and always disproven, Steiner wanted nothing more than to leave Stalag 13 before he even saw it. But phone calls in the middle of the night forced him to come all the way to this Luft Stalag to investigate a potential leak in Gestapo

personnel.

Kommandant Colonel Wilhelm Klink walked over to them, beaming proudly – as if Gestapo _weren't _to be feared at all. Himmler himself had spoken of their uniforms and stated that they were supposed to be imposing. "General Steiner, it is an absolute pleasure to have you here! Welcome to Stalag 13!"

"Colonel, this is not a pleasure trip," Steiner informed him. "We're here on important business – Rach- Fraulein Weiss?" he noticed his secretary emerge from behind Klink's shoulder. She wore a dirty and torn skirt and a blouse that had dirt stains and signs of loose strings. Her face was clean, her hair smoothed down, but it was obvious that she had not come in looking even this clean. "Fraulein Weiss, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, General," she breathed and then turned away, her eyes filled with tears. "It was…I got on the wrong train!" Steiner placed his hand on her shoulder, realizing then that he had moved to her side. "Oh, General, it's all a mess!" A few tears dropped down her cheeks and she brushed at them. "I'm so sorry, this is not the way an agent of the Illustrious Third Reich should behave."

"Who is this woman?" Hochstetter asked.

"This is Fraulein Weiss, my secretary."

"And what is she doing here?"

"Can you hear, Major? She just said she was on the wrong train! Come, my dear. Klink, your office will be for our use until we are finished." Steiner took Rachel's arm and led her up into the Kommandant's office. Klink seemed a bit put out, stuttering about how he couldn't just leave his office, he needed it, they could use any room they wanted – but he needed the office, until Hochstetter turned and glared at him. Klink fell silent, save to occasionally pipe up that his "record was perfect" and there hadn't been an escape and that nothing suspicious had happened the previous night.

Rachel wiped her tears away and allowed the General to escort her to a chair. He sat her down, gave her his handkerchief, and then began to write a note. He used Klink's paper and pen and then handed it the nearest guard. "You. Go fetch everything on this list."

The guard looked at it and then protested, "Herr General, I do not have the marks to –"

Steiner removed his wallet and handed over the money to cover it. "If that isn't enough, tell them to contact me at Stalag 13." The guard nodded and then left. Klink watched him leave and started to protest. Steiner glared at him and Klink remained silent.

"Now, tell us what happened," Steiner instructed Rachel and he poured her a glass of water. Then he poured a small glass of scotch and brought both over to her. Klink stood near his desk as Steiner took over. Hochstetter stood near Klink, not quite close though.

Rachel took a breath, downed the scotch, and then took the water. She explained how she had accidentally gotten on the wrong train, but the great, friendly, and kind Germans agreed to take her to the closest station to her destination and help her get to her family. But then the train slowed to a stop and she woke up, she had fallen asleep sometime around dark and when she woke up, they weren't at a station. Instead there were two cars of men in Gestapo uniform waiting. Most of the men searched the train, but what they were looking for, she didn't know. Two of them had told her different things. One told her they were looking for a bomb, the other told her they were looking for an escaped prisoner from the nearby prisoner of war camp. They took her out of the train and kept her outside until the train left. She was then left outside while the men left. Once the train was gone, they started speaking French. As they left, she knew that there was a problem with the train, but stranded somewhere in the middle of Germany without knowledge of where she was or where to go, she wandered until she saw signs of civilization – the POW camp.

"We helped her a great deal, General Steiner! Good food, a warm bath, all the trimmings! We're quite proud of our little establishment here – nothing's too good for the Gestapo. And we're happy to host –"

"Klink, be quiet," Steiner sighed. "French, hmm? Klink, do you have any French prisoners?"

"Just one, Corporal LeBeau. We, uh, we like to keep cockroaches out of our camp," Klink smiled and laughed a little, as if he'd told a wonderful joke.

"Bring him here for questioning. Fraulein Weiss, you may rest. I'm sure Colonel Klink will be happy to show you to a room."

* * *

She opened the file she'd snagged and looked at the first filled in blank. "Newkirk, Peter Carl."

He hadn't given up a lot of information, just his name, rank, and serial number. Additional notes had been provided for the SS because of the continued interest in Stalag 13 by Major Hochstetter. It indicated that he had at least one close relative named Mavis (sister) and was an uncle. He was part Welsh and from the East End of The United Kingdom.

There weren't many notes and but there were many, many written hypotheses by Major Hochstetter about what role Newkirk might have had in any number of sabotage that happened around Stalag 13. Some of them she knew to be true, such as the ones of theft and copying of information. Some made her laugh, "Dressed as a woman to walk freely outside of camp and interact with agents of the Underground." Somehow she couldn't imagine Peter dressed up in women's clothing but part of her wanted to see it.

She shut the folder and smoothed her skirt over her knees. Thus far, everything was going to plan. She'd arrived ragged and crying and Schultz had taken her into the camp. She told them the same story she'd given the General. LeBeau being called in for questioning wasn't what they'd imagined, but given their resourcefulness, it wouldn't be too much trouble.

Rachel went to the door, listened, and then stepped outside to go return the file. No one paid too much attention to her, merely smiled and stepped out of her way. As the general's secretary, they figured she needed the files.

"All you'll get is my name, rank, and serial number!" LeBeau shouted. "Boche! How could I be a spy? I haven't left this camp since I was captured by you! I am Corporal Louis LeBeau, serial number –"

"Thank you, Corporal, that will be all." Steiner dismissed him. LeBeau walked out, smiled at Helga, and then at Rachel. Steiner followed LeBeau out and looked at Rachel with surprise. "Why, Fraulein Rachel, what are you doing out of bed?"

"I wanted to see the Frenchman," she lied. "I went to France when I was little, I just wanted to see if they'd changed. They have."

"Indeed," Steiner agreed. He placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her in the direction of the room. This time he walked with her, "He will cook dinner for us, I understand. This investigation will take a little while, but shouldn't be too long. Just a few days. I can arrange a staff car to take you to Berlin or if you want to go somewhere else –"

"No! I'd like to stay here, please, with you. I can be of help to the Fatherland here and it's safe. They won't harm a POW camp."

After dinner that night, Rachel put a sleeping serum in the general's water. Her nightgown was soft and silky, much more comfortable than Peter's spare nightshirt but she wished for the cotton, striped dress instead of this and the soft, warm dressing gown. Steiner walked in and smiled at her. She smiled back at him, but her stomach was in knots. For the past week he hadn't touched her and now she knew what he wanted, what he expected. The first time had been so nervewracking – the thought that she would give something away. His hands under her blouse, up her skirt, all over her skin –

His mouth against hers, tongue caressing the inside of her legs, her breasts –

A harsh bite on her nipple –

His hard, thick uncircumcised penis – the very first she'd ever seen – inside her, his hips rocking as he thrust up and into her –

The fake moans, gasps, and sweet nothings she'd had to offer for his harsh breathing, guttural sounds, and dirty words –

Always trying to be impressive, telling her about lunch with these important people, giving her gifts of Chanel perfume, jewelry, clothing and Schiaparelli dresses that he'd gotten for free, spilled secrets, his tears about problems in the Gestapo, hot tears on her breasts, the only place he ever placed his head when he was upset –

"I've missed you, Rachel," he pulled her hair back away from her face and kissed her neck. "Now that I know you were on that train, I'm relieved they made you get off it," his hand slid down from her neck to cup her right breast under her nightshirt. His thumb brushed over her nipple and even though he repelled her, her body reacted to his touch. He kissed her behind her ear. "Liebchen," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot. "Allow me." He took off her dressing gown and folded it over the chair in the room.

Rachel walked over and got the water glasses. Careful with which one was which, she handed him a water glass. "I know how thirsty you get," she held up her glass for a toast. She took a drink of hers and he took a long gulp from his.

She set about undressing him, slowly. He thought it was because she found it erotic, but in truth she wanted to give the sedative a better chance to take over. She undid his suspenders and he pushed at her nightdress. Giving in for the moment, she stepped back and allowed him to remove it. "This isn't fair," she whisper moaned. "You're more dressed than I am."

"I can remedy that soon," he fumbled with his pants and pushed her to the bed. Rachel fell back on the bed and lifted her stocking clad leg to push against his chest. "Oh, darling," he rolled her stocking down and took it off. His eyelids began to droop and he fought against a sudden feeling of exhaustion. She put her other foot on his chest and he removed that stocking as well, then he fell onto the bed next to her. "Almost," he reached for her underwear. He got one finger under the linen and then his head dropped to the mattress.

Rachel waited ten minutes and then got up and dressed in her nightgown. She tossed the water out, put on her dressing gown, and walked to the living room where Hogan had told her about the entrance to the tunnel. Inside the living room she went straight for the brandy and poured herself a shot of it. The liquor was bitter as it slid across her tongue and down her throat.

"That sounds good," Peter appeared in the living room and she turned in surprise.

"That was quieter than I expected," she whispered.

Peter smiled, "Can I have one of those?" Rachel poured him a shot and handed it to him. He accepted it, holding the glass with his thumb and first two fingers. Holding his pinky out like he was having tea with the King of England, he drank it down. "Ready?" He took her hand and led her down into the tunnel.

"Peter, wait," she knew that Hogan and the rest would be waiting down at the regular tunnel with the radio and parts but she needed to breathe. "Wait, please."

"Come on, love, the governor's got your stuff. We heard most of the conversation but if there's something we missed, you can –"

"Please," she squeezed his hand. "Please."

"All right, all right," he rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. "What happened? Those bloody Krauts give you a –" she stepped forward and put her head against his chest. Newkirk said nothing, he just put his arms around her and held her while she shook. "There, love, there, nobody's going to hurt you. I won't let them. None of us'll let them."

They were quiet and still. Then she pulled away and wiped her tears but Peter stopped her by cupping her face in his hands. He used his thumbs to wipe away her tears for her. "Now, don't apologize, whatever drives a lady to the brandy is reason enough to cry about. Or was that just a nightcap?

"Let's see Colonel Hogan," she adjusted the sleeve of her gown, not wishing to make the smiling Englishman upset, he always seemed either serious or happy. An upset Peter wasn't something that would make this day a great success, even though it was a success. With her testimony, they were looking west, towards France, not Switzerland, and thought the Jewish boys were dead, not escaping.

Hogan cleared everything with her, gave her the radio and parts, and directed Peter to take her back to the living room. He also supplied her with more sleeping pills in case she needed them.

Then it was just her and Peter. He walked over to a crate and took out a bottle of wine and two spare tin cups. "Here, better wine?"

It didn't take too much to convince her to stay and have a drink with him. One drink lead to another and they were talking about their childhoods. He told her about his siblings and how he and Mavis were the closest. She told him about how her eldest brother studied in London before the war and volunteered when England went to war. She'd joined in the Underground because she couldn't join the forces and she'd gone to London with Aaron because he was afraid to go alone. As a kid she'd dreamt of going to Europe but it had been a big surprise when she got to London. So many similar words but different meanings. Peter laughed, talked about the East End and how it was different. He told her how his father had been in WWI but wounded and sent home. He told her about his work in the circus, she told him about waiting tables.

He told her about his first girlfriend.

She told him about the first boy she ever kissed.

He asked her if she'd ever made love.

"No," she whispered, well aware of how close he was to her. "I've slept with men, but never made love. You?"

"Yes," he kissed her. It wasn't the most romantic thing to say as his lips touched hers. She'd had kisses before, but this was the first since the war that felt right. The first that she didn't fake, one where she felt comfortable sliding her fingers through his hair, where his warm body actually felt like a blessing, not a curse.

Peter held her, his fingers twined in her hair with one hand.

They broke apart and then kissed again.

"Oh, I almost forgot there was a war going on," Peter whispered.

"There's a war?" she asked teasingly.

"So not love…then why?"

She didn't need to have him clarify what he meant. "You have your way of getting information, I have mine. You have codes to crack, I sleep with mine. You know something? It surprises me that the human race continues on, so far I've never enjoyed sex."

"Guess Fritz isn't just a pain to us soldiers," Peter smiled. Then he frowned, "Is that why you gave the general the sleeping –"

She put a finger to his lips. "I'd rather not talk about it."

He pulled away and began to put the wine away. Peter stood up and went to place it back in its box. Then it occurred to her that he'd been trying to sleep with her but didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Rachel stood up and walked over to him. His hands were still in the box when she put her hand over his. "Peter…" He turned to look at her and she decided to hell with words. She kissed him and began to pull at his sweater.

The cold, hard tunnel floor would have seemed like the worst place to make love before, but Peter's touch and kisses and presence made everything feel perfect. Now she understood why it was called 'making love', he truly made her feel loved even though she knew it was probably just a one night occurrence. He loved her no more than she loved working as a Gestapo secretary. She liked the secretary job just fine, but not for the Nazis.

He pulled feelings from her that she didn't know existed. If his fingers worked this kind of magic pickpocketing or magic tricks or all those things he talked about, she understood why the Underground considered him good enough to be part of Hogan's team. The same could be said about the sounds his actions made her muffle.

From the reactions she received from him, he wasn't disappointed in her either. To quiet the cry he made when he came, he kissed her.

The two fell asleep in each other's arms and woke up in a few hours. Again they made love and fell asleep. The next time she woke up, he scrambled into his clothes and she grabbed hers. It would soon be light out and she needed to sneak back into the room where the general slept. Hopefully he was still asleep. Peter led her to the exit and kissed her goodbye.

Rachel returned to the room where Erich indeed slept still. Would it be better to climb into bed smelling like she did or not? Deciding to let him think they'd had sex, she undressed and finished undressing Erich, scattered the clothes around the room, and then climbed into bed. Even asleep, Erich knew when someone was in his bed. He rolled over and put his arm around her. It took a while before she fell asleep.

In the morning, Erich woke up first and looked at Rachel. His shy, yet bold in bed secretary…she looked the best naked in his bed. Out of all the things he'd managed to achieve in war, she was the best. The money was nothing compared to how perfect their relationship was. During the day, she was happy to be just his secretary or assistant and at night she came willingly to his bed. No one, not even his wife knew that she was his mistress. The perfect secret keeper.

"Rachel," he shook her awake. She rolled over, a smile formed on her lips and then faded when she looked around. "Yes, I know. Dreary, but what can you expect at a prisoner of war camp?"

"Oh, yes…I almost forgot," she drew the sheets up to her chest and sat up. Her hair was a mess. As if she just thought of that, she ran a hand through her hair and then turned to look at the clock. "Mind if I shower?" she asked him. "Then I'll sneak to the other room so it looks like you were all by yourself last night?"

"Thank you," he kissed her cheek and she got out of bed. He didn't remember much from the night before, but it had been an exhausting trip and day. They would finish interviewing all the guards at the camp and then move on to Hammelburg. They would only be here for about a week.

Erich removed his clothes from his suitcase and dressed. With a general's pay, he was able to supply himself with luxuries like French aftershave, which he used liberally. While the shower ran and she cleaned up, he dressed and then left. Outside he walked down to Klink's office where the bumbling mess of a colonel argued in English with one of the prisoners. Since according to the rules, the only one allowed to see the Kommandant regularly was the senior prisoner of war, others could approach him for serious matters. "Who's this?" Erich asked.

"I think you just stole Major Hochstetter's line," the American said confidently. He wore a bomber's leather jacket with the insignia of a colonel. Must have been a difficult man if he was here, most prisoner of war camps didn't have officers. Since this was the toughest POW camp in all of Germany, Erich took one look at the colonel and made a note to check the man out, Rachel could get the information. "I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW officer," the American held out his hand to greet Erich.

"I'm General Erich Steiner," he shook Hogan's hand. "Why is this man here, Colonel Klink?"

Klink opened his arms and held them up in surrender, "He never said, I think he just likes to complain." Then Klink laughed. Erich shot him a look and Klink stopped laughing.

"If prisoners do not complain, there is something wrong with you, Kommandant," Erich studied Hogan. Even though there had never been an escape from Stalag 13, the body language suggested that Hogan was in complete control of his surroundings. Either that or he was the best actor Erich had ever seen, including on the stage. Perhaps that was the genius of Klink's Stalag – the prisoners thought they were in charge, perhaps they were comfortable in a POW camp rather than actual combat. However it was it didn't matter, this was not his investigation. "I will leave you to your business if you'll point me in the direction of the officer's mess."

"Oh, Colonel, you're not going to serve a general that food are you?" Hogan asked with disgust.

"What's wrong with the officer's mess's food?"

"Well, what isn't wrong with it?" Hogan returned. "We have a gourmet chef in camp, he could cook you a decent breakfast."

And that was how LeBeau ended up cooking for the Gestapo for the rest of the week. They filtered information from the times the men served the general and the major. Rachel also passed along information when she could, though she spent most of her time typing up the interviews and retrieving papers and forms. At night she slipped the general a sleeping pill or syrup and spent the rest of her time with Newkirk. They talked of their homes, their hobbies, things they wanted to do. They were intimate in more ways than one. At the end of the week the Germans had nothing but fragments of false information. Papa Bear, on the other hand, was able to send a lot of information on to Mama Bear.

At the end of the week, Rachel and General Steiner drove back to Berlin.


	6. The Prince's Kiss?

None of it's mine

Chapter Six: The Prince's Kiss?

Rachel walked down the street of Berlin to her apartment complex. She held a bag of groceries in one hand and her purse was strapped across her chest. Night was about to fall, she didn't want to be out on the street when night actually fell. The chances of an Allied air attack was pretty high tonight. All the codes and clues they'd radioed back and forth suggested it. Another air raid.

It had been three, almost four months since she'd been at Stalag 13. There wasn't a chance to pass on private messages but every now and then in one of the packages she received at the grocer's, was a note from Newkirk. She sent one every two weeks. When she was on the radio with Kinch once, LeBeau grabbed the set and told her that Newkirk was a bit of a flirt and that he found it his duty to tell her this.

Another resident saw her coming and opened the door for her. "Danke," Rachel thanked him and went upstairs to her apartment. Once inside she locked the doors and went into the bathroom with the grocery bag. She placed the bag on the floor next to the scale and took out a spare toothbrush. Inside the grocery bag was a collection of vegetables and a bag of sugar. The sugar was her main interest at the moment. Using the handle of the toothbrush, she sifted through the sugar until she found the scraps of paper. There were three.

Once she was satisfied that all were out, she closed the bag of sugar, put the spare toothbrush away, and then took the groceries to the kitchen to put them away. Then she grabbed her codebook from the living room – a copy of the Bible. It was the best cover for a codebook she could think of. It was readily available and few people asked questions about why anyone had it. In the bathroom she cracked the messages to find the Underground needed her to doctor some files and keep her eyes out for a list of agents that the Gestapo boasted they had. The last was from Newkirk.

_Things go well, all send their love. _

Rachel put Peter's note aside and sighed.

She'd gone and gotten herself into the biggest trouble a spy could get herself into. Unmarried, fake documents so no way to have a legal wedding anyway, and pregnant with another agent's child was an absolute catastrophe. Did she get rid of it or not?

Her heart said "keep the baby" but her mind and all the arguments she could concoct said "get rid of it."

Somehow she had to get to Stalag 13. This wasn't just her decision, it had to be Peter's as well.

And yet, he was not a Jew. Her mother would scream in horror that she marry outside of their religion, _if _Peter proposed. Not that it mattered, the last thing she wanted was a man marrying her because he _had_ to. She wanted him to marry her because he loved her.

But how could she find an excuse to get to Stalag 13?

The next morning she went to work and pulled the files the Underground wanted her to change. Even though she had the work, her mind wasn't on it and by midday, Erich called her into his office and asked what was distracting her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm sorry, Herr Steiner. Things seem to be getting…well…I'm worried, sir. None of these papers look like good news."

Steiner smiled and took her hand. "My dear, everything will be fine. The Fuhrer knows what he's doing. I promise it will all be well." He thought for a moment. "I have business in Hammelburg, do you feel up to the trip?"

"Hammelburg?" the perfect chance! "Of course! I think out of Berlin – out where things are quieter. It'll remind me that things are all right, that outside of this city, people aren't obsessed with war and its parts. What do you need me to do to prepare for the trip, sir?"

"Rachel, it's all taken care of. We'll be staying at a hotel, you have your own room if you wish, I can arrange it," he reached for the phone.

"I'm your secretary," she told him, putting her hand over his. "I'll make the arrangements."

* * *

Newkirk pulled on the stockings and found the pair had a run in them. "Andrew, how many bleedin' times am I gonna have to tell you to hang the stockings carefully? You've gone and ruined another pair!"

"Well, I don't know nothing about stockings!" Carter protested. "Before the war, I didn't even know how to wash my socks! I liked it better before the war," he added as an afterthought. "Besides, what difference does it make? Your legs look terrible in or out of the stockings."

Newkirk balled the stockings in his hand and threw them at the American sergeant. Carter shifted and the garment fell useless to the floor. "Don't forget your glasses so you can see," Carter said innocently.

"For a bright eyed Yank who's probably a bleedin' firebug, you're getting a bit of a mouth on you. Didn't I tell you to stay away from bad influences?"

"Rather hard to tell him to stay away from you," Hogan commented, coming into the room. "You're going out in that? Disgraceful."

Newkirk tugged the shawl tighter around his shoulders and spoke in a high pitched tone of voice, "I do declare, young man! No manners at all!"

"My apologies, _madame_," LeBeau grinned, happy that he had gotten out of this mission. When Newkirk heard that it was Snow White, he'd volunteered before Colonel Hogan had asked if anyone wanted the job. As much as Newkirk hated to dress in women's clothing, the rest of the team got a laugh out of it and LeBeau enjoyed seeing his friend go to ridiculous steps. "Perhaps these stockings would be better?" he held out another pair, which Newkirk plucked from his hand.

Hogan eyed the English RAF officer with a bit of caution. "You know this isn't just pleasure, Newkirk, so make sure you're back on time –"

"Don't worry, dad, I'll be sure not to let anyone get fresh," Newkirk laughed. Hogan shot him a disapproving look and Newkirk checked his watch to affirm the time he was supposed to return. Soon Newkirk was out of the tunnel and on his way to the hotel. Since there weren't any people around, Newkirk walked normally. As soon as he made it to the road, he began to walk like an elderly woman. Strangely enough, it didn't matter too much how feminine you looked so long as you acted like a woman. Never a man to turn down a chance to look at a beautiful woman, Peter had always known there was a _way_ women walked, but until the war, he'd never tried to imitate it. Then again, before the war he hadn't been as avid of a smoker, hadn't spoken German, and hadn't fooled around with government papers. Not these government papers anyway.

In Hammelburg, Germans walked about but the majority of those out walking were dressed in Gestapo or soldiers' uniforms. The average person had gone to bed or didn't have the money to go out for a night on the town. Newkirk walked up the street and into the hotel. The man working the desk eyed him strangely, "Excuse me, young man," Newkirk tried his best to flutter his eyelashes at the clerk, "I'm here to visit a friend of mine, Fraulein Rachel Weiss, could you direct me to her room please?"

The clerk checked his registry and told Newkirk the room number.

"Thank you so much, nice to see that people still have manners," and he walked over to the elevator. A few soldiers were in the elevator with him and both eyed Newkirk. "Where have you young men been?" Newkirk asked.

"Eastern front, ma'am," one said politely. "Excuse me for saying this, but you look just like my grandmother before she died."

"Oh, well…" Newkirk fiddled with his hair, feigning shyness. "How old are you, sonny?"

"Twenty-four, ma'am."

"Twenty-four, why my grandson's your age. Haven't seen him though, I believe he was sent to the Russian front. Oh, excuse me, this is my stop." Newkirk left the elevator and continued to Rachel's room. It was hard to remain in character when he knocked on her door.

She opened it, a frown on her face. "I'm sorry, I think you must have the wrong room. Could I direct you to a diff –"

"Care for an apple, my dear?" Newkirk asked.

Rachel paused, narrowed her eyes, and then realized who it was. "Oh! Granny Schmidt! Come in, I'm so pleased to see you!"

Newkirk stepped inside and Rachel shut the door and locked it behind her. Then she took another look at Peter and laughed. "Great disguise," she told him. Newkirk took off his glasses and wig. "But what are you using to – oh, never mind. I'm happy to see you," she hugged him and then gestured around the room for him to have a seat wherever he wanted. Almost predictably, he sat on the bed but unexpectedly, he crossed his ankles and sat like a lady.

"Um," Rachel handed him the papers she'd copied for him, copies of receipts for a new rocket construction. "They've been working on this for a while, but now they're hiring men to work. Looking into these scientists," she pointed to another sheet of paper. "And…um…they've been tracking the movements – um, what I mean is they've been –" she went over and got herself a glass of water and offered him something to eat or drink. Newkirk politely declined. "They've been watching the movements of the papers so this was the first time I've been able to pass it on without arousing suspicion. This receipt doesn't show anything too dangerous. But it gives us a lot of information."

"Mmmhmmm," Newkirk looked them over, committing most of it to memory.

"I, um…Peter, there's another reason I contacted you." Peter put the papers aside and looked at her. "I need to be exfiltrated and soon."

"What? Has something happened?" he stood up and hurried over to her, nearly tripping as he underestimated the constraints of his skirt by an inch or so. "Are you in trouble?" he looked around as if a hidden microphone would reveal itself in surrender. "I do have a gun with me, but it's kind of difficult to get out, so mind letting me know if I need it?"

"Where's your gun?" she asked, looking at his outfit.

"Um, under me skirt."

She laughed again and laughed until she started crying. Newkirk hitched up his skirt to get the gun out and she laughed even harder, tears streaming down her face. She laughed so hard, she couldn't even make a sound, her body shook but no noise came out.

"Stop laughing at me bloomers!" he protested.

"I'm – this whole thing is stupid," she managed and then wiped her eyes. "No, I'm not in trouble." Talking about why she needed exfiltration sobered her up almost instantly. "Except that I made the stupidest mistake an agent could do. I wasn't careful enough, didn't think about my actions enough to know the repercussions, and yet…well, here we are. It doesn't make that much difference. Remember those nights together?"

"How could I forget?" Peter smiled wickedly. "Wait – are you saying that was a mistake?"

He looked hurt, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open, a sadness and confusion in his eyes. "No," Rachel reached for his hand. "I don't regret what we did – I regret not being more careful." She swallowed. "Peter, I'm pregnant. And its yours. Soon I'll begin to show and I'll have to leave the Gestapo. I'll no longer be of use to the Underground. It's time to get me out of Germany."

Peter stood up and walked over to the window to look out for a good couple minutes.

"Say something," Rachel ordered. "Anything. Recite 'God Save the Queen' or whatever."

"We have a king," he reminded her. "And a Prime Minister. Prime Minister's a bit more important politically and in this war. But yes, God save the Queen. You got a cigarette?"

She went over to one of the bags she had and opened it up. From it she found a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. "Here."

He took the package, opened it up, fumbled with getting a cigarette out and then lit it. The smell of burning nicotine and tobacco filled the air between them. After about six puffs on the cigarette, Peter spoke. "You sure it's mine?"

"Absolutely." Between the sleep medication and work, she hadn't slept with the general in a while. He knew she was pregnant, she'd told him shortly after making the reservation at the hotel for her – three rooms down from him so that there wouldn't be a chance he'd find one of Hogan's men without her knowing he was on his way. "I wouldn't lie about this."

"You could be mistaken. I wouldn't be the first man to find out a baby wasn't his."

"I'm not. Look, it's ok if you don't want the baby, it really is. But I thought you should know and London will want my reason for exfiltration. Just get me out. You won't hear from me again if you don't want to."

"Don't want to?" he almost cried. "It ain't that, love! But there's a war on!" They looked at each other and then he shrugged in dismissal. It was a really stupid thing to say considering what they both did. "Are the Krauts so unemotional that you think I – I meant every word I wrote to you and then some! Why I haven't been this attached to a woman since I was in me mother's womb." She smiled. "Ah, there's that smile!" He moved to her and put an arm around her. "I'll talk to Hogan about it, we'll get you out."


	7. The Haunted Camp

Still not mine

Chapter Seven: The Haunted Camp

Hogan checked the communiqués from London. Unfortunately they were going to have to break the bad news to Newkirk. London wasn't going to get a chance to exfiltrate Rachel for a few months. By that time it might be too dangerous to send her to the sub. He called for LeBeau in his office and showed him the news. LeBeau read it and then looked over at Hogan with expectation. "What is this, Colonel?"

"Your grandmother was a midwife. By the time we get her here she'll be about eight months along, right? Would you allow her to leave then?"

"I'm not my grandmother! How would I know?" LeBeau handed him the papers back. "I'm a chef and currently a prisoner of war. What do I know about babies?"

The objections of his man made Hogan smile. It was definitely true that none of them knew all that much about pregnancy and babies, but this close to full term seemed risky to Hogan. It had taken far too long to get the arrangements made for her "disappearance" but only because she had to truly and believably disappear. Given her relationship with the general, he would hunt for her and want more than just a bloody outfit or pieces of an outfit stained with blood if she were to "die". She also couldn't be kidnapped very easily, it would just give them a greater incentive to hunt down the Underground. She had suggested leaving a note that told them the truth: she was an agent of the Allies and was on her way to the United Kingdom after completing her mission. That had been rejected.

Finally the plan had been that she would "die" in an air raid which would coincide with an actually planned attack. Agents would plant her things there and take her to Stalag 13 where she would rendezvous with an agent who'd take her to a plane bound for London. Everything had been set up so that she would stay with Newkirk's sister and when she could, she would work as an operator for the airwaves.

The only question was if they were too late. Hogan couldn't imagine that a baby would handle flying very well. Some people got sick from the turbulence and he remembered the discomfort of his ears popping with the altitude change. The flight wouldn't be too long, though. "All right, tell Kinch to radio London that we accept the plan. Then get everybody in my office."

"Oui, Colonel!" LeBeau hurried out and one by one, Carter, LeBeau, Newkirk, and finally Kinch arrived in his office. Kinch shut the door behind him and they gathered by his desk to wait for instructions.

"London's set a date for when we'll move Snow White. In a week."

Newkirk counted mentally and then said, "Sir, that's awfully close to nine months."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, I've got lots of siblings and far as I can remember, none of them, not a one, was born according to schedule."

"They postponed tea time, huh?" LeBeau smirked.

"Matter o' fact, they did. Ain't a doctor in England that likes missing tea time," Newkirk shot back. "But at least we have tea time. You can't brew a decent cup of tea if it would end the war."

"All right, enough," Hogan broke the two's squabble. It never ceased to amaze him how the two got along in just about everything but once it turned to the discussion of one's country – thank God for the Germans to keep them united against something else! "We'll get her here, we'll get her out, any questions?"

"Yeah," Kinch spoke up. "What if she goes into labor? We don't know anything about babies."

"No, no we don't," Hogan agreed. "But we also didn't know about medical exams, being doctors, waiters, being women, tank drivers, or tunneling until we got here. So if she goes into labor, we'll handle it like we always do."

"Oh, I believe you, sir!" Carter piped up, "You always think of a way to get us out of trouble. What's a baby compared to a grumpy Gestapo general?"

"Andrew, there are times I like you better as that bloody Berlin corporal," Newkirk shook his head. "You're forgetting, Colonel, that half of those we faked our way through. I never gave nobody a medical exam – not a real one. And while I make a fantastic woman, I ain't a real one and haven't the foggiest notion of how babies are birthed."

"Do you know how they get here?" Carter asked. "My mom just told me about the stork –"

"Another thing, Colonel, what if she has the baby here – what do we tell Klink about the noise?" Kinch brought up another good point.

Hogan thought for a while and then grinned, "We'll tell Klink that the camp's haunted."

Newkirk and Kinch turned for the door, certain that their colonel would come up with a real answer at a later time. Carter, however, loved it. He grinned joyously and commented that he always knew the colonel would have the answer. "Colonel, you can't be serious!" Kinch protested. "How are we going to convince him the camp's haunted? Put a sheet over LeBeau?"

"Why me?" LeBeau demanded.

"A French ghost in Germany?" Newkirk scoffed. "We ought to ask Schultz, but we don't have a sheet big enough for him."

"It'll have to be LeBeau."

"Why?"

"Because, have you ever seen a tall ghost?" Hogan explained.

"I have, Colonel," Carter offered. Hogan closed his eyes and sighed. "But I think LeBeau would make a pretty ghost."

"it's settled," Hogan declared. "Start mentioning ghosts and hauntings around the guards just in case – but go easy on it. We'll pick up Snow White soon enough."

* * *

At the bottom of the ladder, Rachel received welcoming hugs and assistance to a seat. Questions about the trip, about if she was hungry or not, if she needed anything, how they could make her more comfortable, and of course if they could feel the baby kick.

"Wow," Peter took a hold of Rachel's hand and twirled her around. "You're stunning – though I think some tailoring needs to be done to that outfit, you can't look like a Kraut's girl when you're my girl."

LeBeau gave her a list of potential food that he'd had Schultz and a few other sympathetic guards. Once again, the list impressed her but she declined. Her stomach was rather upset. Hogan explained the rest of her journey to her once she sat down. Most of it was easy and Hogan knew that if anything happened that wasn't planned or anticipated, two experienced agents could handle it. What he hadn't thought about was that she wouldn't be very receptive to his instructions. "Colonel Hogan, thank you, but I'm tired and I don't recommend you let other pregnant women use those ladders. Perhaps you should invest in a slide…" Most of them chimed in with that was a great idea. Hogan agreed and all except for Newkirk left for the barracks. Rachel turned to Peter and smiled shyly. He returned the smile, but without the qualification of "shy". "How are you?" she asked him.

"I'm fine, same old routine. How about you? I mean…I've never…well, the baby?"

"Everything's fine," Rachel assured him. "I'm still upset with myself for making everyone go through with this. I should have been more careful."

"Well, how could you know? Things happen –"

"Do you know how common it is for women spies to sleep with the enemy? We have ways to avoid this. I'm a Jewish American woman having a Protestant British RAF POW who happens to work for the Underground – my parents are going to be so upset –"

"I can convert," Peter volunteered.

"You'd have to get circumcised," Rachel didn't really pay attention to what she said, thinking about all the ways she had messed up and how queasy she began to feel. The remark bothered Peter, he recoiled from her and rethought his opinion on Judaism, which up until then hadn't really been anything. Religion was just a box to check on forms and claim whenever asked but aside from that, it hadn't been anything. "And of course my parents would be upset because you'd have to learn everything – but then there's Chanukah, which you'd like, given the way you talk about playing cards, you'd cheat with a dreidel but eight nights of presents and time with – OH!" she gasped, cutting off her discussion about whether or not Newkirk would make a good Jew.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked.

"The baby's coming," she said after a few deep breaths.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, it's either that or the Gestapo's planted some sort of bomb on me!"

The prospect of a baby in a prisoner of war camp – not to mention _his _baby – frightened him. "Maybe we should check on the bomb?"

Rachel didn't say a word, she just turned to him and squeezed his hand so tight his bones felt like they were breaking. She'd offered the Gestapo as an alternative, Peter was sure that even the Gestapo couldn't do this to a man's hand. They'd break it first, they wouldn't have the patience for a slow grip of death. "All right, bombs away," he removed his hand and she began to breathe normally. "Wait, it's gone?"

"Who knows how long this will last? The pain builds up until the baby is born. Don't tell me you thought the stork brought babies."

"I'm gonna go get Colonel Hogan, we'll start prepping," he hurried to the bunk exit. Prepping? Not a chance. The most they would do would be to do whatever she told them to. If it made her feel better by having the lot of them bring her one of the guard dogs, they would bring her one. If they had to dance, they would dance. He poked his head up into the barracks and just told them flatly that they were about to have a visitor.

"Who?" Carter asked, looking up from a model train kit the Red Cross had sent.

"LeBeau, boil some water, get all the spare blankets and pillows we have around," Hogan took charge as if he helped deliver babies all the time. "Carter, get Schultz, tell him one of us has a tooth ache – get whatever's medically safe for her." Carter started to reply that he didn't know what was medically safe for her and that nothing they gave for a toothache would help with her pain. Also, they might try to ship one of them off to the dentist to appease the Geneva Convention. "Kinch – um…" Kinch looked at Hogan, waiting for instructions. "Feel free to offer any help you can think of because I'm at a loss. I think I want to join the Air Force. I need to quit medical school."

Every man got into some form of action, even though they only sent teams of three down at a time. Newkirk of course would be there all the time. Throughout the early stages of labor, Schultz offered some painkillers, but he heard Rachel's muffled cries. He came in and out the first couple of hours.

The last time he came in before the third hour, he brought Klink with him. "Hogan, what is that sound?"

"What sound?" Hogan asked, rewetting the towel that seemed to comfort Rachel. There was one with hot water and one with cold water and if she wanted one, they gave it to her. So far, she preferred having the cold one over her forehead and the warm one on her stomach.

Rachel's cry, still muffled by the depth of the tunnel and her attempts to keep quiet, was heard again. "That sound!" Klink stomped his foot. "What are you up to, Hogan? Are you tunneling?"

"Oh, Kommandant!" Hogan scoffed. "Search the barracks if you want! No one is trying to escape! We love it here! We love it so much we want to have our families here! It's just…well, the boys and I have been talking about that noise. Happens like clockwork every month –"

"It does?" Klink asked, he didn't recall the sound ever happening before.

"Of course! You remember last month when Kinch," Hogan noticed the man hanging a sheet out to dry after rinsing it of sweat, "when Kinch preformed an old African ritual that blocks spirits? We think the place is haunted, Colonel."

"Haunted?"

Kinch stepped behind the sheet, annoyed.

"Yes, haunted. I think this used to be an old farm or something, and a woman died in childbirth here. Isn't that what you said, Schultz?" Hogan looked at the sergeant. Kinch took another clothespin out and secured the sheet to the line, wondering if the Colonel needed a break. His lies were edging on offensive and not in good taste. At least Newkirk was down in the tunnel and didn't hear the suggestion of "death" for childbirth.

"Oh, nothing to worry about, Colonel. At least, not for us. She's looking for a German man after all. The father. But iron ought to do the trick, certainly you have some?"

"You're sure it's haunted?" Klink asked. He turned to another prisoner and asked if he thought it was haunted in the compound. The man nodded and assured him that he'd seen the ghost.

Klink left, looking terrified.

Another two hours passed and as LeBeau came up to fetch more towels, Olsen reported that it looked like one of the guards was being taken to the hospital. Schultz appeared and sighed. "What happened?"

"Oh it was terrible!" Schultz sighed again. "Carl went in to check on the Kommandant and the Kommandant struck him with a fire poker on accident. He claimed it was to ward away the ghost!"

Schultz seemed disappointed that there wasn't any food for him. They handed over chocolate bars to keep him from noticing the amount of sheets they were washing. He commented that he didn't understand how anyone was able to sleep with the ghost making all that noise. Kinch brought down one of the sheets and moved it closer to the stove to dry it faster. Olsen tapped him on the shoulder and shared a grin that once again, Hogan's crazy plan was working.

Four more hours passed and it was almost time for a roll call. Carter went down to tell Newkirk that they'd have to report soon but when he got down there, LeBeau held up a brand new baby.

"Colonel!" Carter yelled, "We've got a baby!"

Louisa Andrea Newkirk had arrived. They'd picked the names from Louis' and Andrew's names. Hogan was asked to be the godfather, even though he wasn't Jewish. Everyone else was asked to be honorary uncles.

They went out for roll call and then spent as much time as they could with the baby until the agent arrived. Carter had made a stuffed bunny that had originally been intended to be a bear. Each one found something to give the baby.

Right before she left, Newkirk kissed her and leaned in close, "Say hi to Mavis for me, will you? And, if you still want me and your parents don't oppose you too much, well…will you marry me?"

"Ask me after the war, if you still want."


	8. Happily Ever After

Not mine!

Epilogue

_Cleveland, Ohio_

Peter Newkirk ranged the doorbell to Hogan's door. The war had been over for over a decade now and with it all behind them, they'd finally managed to arrange for the whole lot of them to get together. With him was his wife, Rachel, and daughter Louisa. This would be Louisa's first visit with the heroes since she was born.

Hogan answered the door and for a moment no one said anything. "Hello, Governor," Peter greeted him with a laugh.

"Peter!" Hogan reached out and grabbed the man. "So glad you made it! And Snow White!"

"Snow White?" Louisa asked her mother.

"Oh my…is this Louisa?" Hogan pushed Peter aside and looked her up and down. "Well, last time I saw you, you were a prisoner!"

"Mum, what's he talking about?"

"Well, darlin'," Peter put his arm around his daughter. "You're about to meet the medical team of Stalag 13."

"Colonel," LeBeau walked over to the door. "Are you going to invite them in or shall we have a picnic?"

"Oh, no, don't tell me Louis is cookin'!" Peter groaned sarcastically. They moved inside the house and were greeted with hugs and laughs. Then Peter turned to his daughter and with delight told her that it was about time she learned what her parents had been doing during the war – and where she'd been born.

By the end of it, Louisa headed for the punch bowl and took a long drink. "You're telling me that I was born in a tunnel?"

"Of a POW camp!" Carter chimed in.

"This is the worst joke I've ever heard you tell, dad."


End file.
